


Five Is...

by Heizpilz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate POV Derek/Stiles (more Stiles), And I still suck at tagging titles and summaries, Hurt/Comfort, If you're looking for porn this isn't the story you're looking for, M/M, Some sex but not explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:30:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1736294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heizpilz/pseuds/Heizpilz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Derek uses somewhat unorthodox methods to help Stiles deal with the aftermath of his possession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Is...

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was going to write a short (!) one-shot about Stiles’s reaction to being possessed, which I so, so hope will be addressed on the show. Naturally, it grew and grew until I wasn’t sure if I would be finished before the new season starts and makes it all redundant. And while it’s still a one-shot (because I say so), there are chapters and it’s by no means short. I hope you enjoy it anyway.
> 
> Canon-compliant until the last few minutes of 3B, because I hate Kate and already dread where the next season might be going.
> 
> Trigger warnings, if you would be happier having them, in the notes at the end.

 

 

**1... is an incident**

As much as he likes to hide it, Stiles has been more than a little pre-occupied after all that’s happened. All his friends have been giving him space, a lot of space actually, so much space, in fact, that he doesn’t know how to fill it anymore. But that’s not his biggest concern right now. He’s been sitting in the coffee shop opposite the supermarket for an hour, contemplating how having to go to the shops three times in one day has become his life. This morning he forgot the chicken his father asked him to get for dinner, despite remembering perfectly well to buy all the ingredients to go with it, so he had to go and get that after lunch. Now he’s back because they still need milk.

This has never happened to him before. His attention span was always a problem, not his memory. But it’s difficult to remember things when there are others you’re actively trying to forget. His brain seems to be too scrambled up to compartmentalize. He’s stirring his coffee absentmindedly before leaving without drinking the by now cold brew, only to be back thirty seconds later to pick up the bag with the milk that’s still sitting by the side of the chair he’s just vacated. On his way to the car he wonders, not for the first time, if his father lied to him. He said the Nogitsune tricked them all by using his mother’s MRI pictures, which was a huge relief, but he’s not so sure any longer. Maybe they just looked very similar because it certainly feels like he’s losing his faculties.

The jeep is parked in the supermarket parking lot. This is the same place his family’s been shopping at for as long as he can remember. When he was little, his mother used to take him here, trying to stop him from racing around the aisles because he couldn’t contain himself enough to walk with her, never mind standing patiently in line to pay. How she must have hated having to watch and restrain him all the time. He always wondered if the stress of having such a difficult child accelerated her deterioration.

His feet take him across the familiar road towards his car without any conscious thought, when he suddenly hears a loud honk and the beginnings of a screech. It stirs him out of his reverie, like it would anyone, natural curiosity making him look towards the sound to see what’s happening. There’s no fear, just a sudden realization that he’s in the middle of the traffic and there’s a car barreling towards him. Somewhere someone screams, but it doesn’t really register.

Then an object slams into him from behind and for a split second he thinks he’s been hit by another car before he feels arms vice-like around his torso and there’s sharp pain as he lands hard on the sidewalk. It would have been much harder had he landed on his front, but somehow he’s on his side, his shoulder, hip and leg protesting angrily against the impact. His head’s cradled in a large hand while the arm around his waist is so tight for a few moments that he’s thinks he might vomit. Luckily he’s eaten very little.

There’s complete silence that lasts about ten seconds. The screeching has stopped, so has the piercing scream, no one’s talking and the traffic has come to a halt. After that, it picks up again at the same time as he’s pushed away roughly from the body that’s pressed against his back. The guy – because it’s unmistakably a guy, all hard chest and firm muscles – gets up and lifts him to his feet like he weighs nothing.

“You stupid moron, what were you thinking?”

Stiles sighs, looking into a familiar face that’s dominated by sharp cheekbones and green eyes, which are blazing angrily, as they so often do. Of course, it would be Derek Hale who rescued him, the one person who will never let him forget it, who already thinks he’s useless.

“I was obviously thinking of something else,” he retorts just as angrily. “That should be obvious. I mean, why else would I end up in the middle of the road? And I don’t need you to rescue me, thank you very much.”

“Clearly.” Derek is all sarcasm as he scrutinizes him with that intense gaze that is always so disconcerting.

“Also: if you’re calling me a moron, stupid is redundant. It’s implied in the word moron.”

“I’ll bear that in mind for next time.”

“Are you alright?” a woman asks and Stiles notices a car a few yards away with the front door left wide open. This must be the driver who nearly ran him over.

“Yes, I’m fine.” He forces himself to smile at her. “It was totally my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m really sorry. Are _you_ alright?”

“Fine,” she says, but she looks more shaken than he is. “If you’re sure...”

“Quite sure,” he reassures her, his smile more determined now, and nods towards her car.

She gratefully takes the hint and gets back into her vehicle with a heartfelt thank you to Derek, who doesn’t pay her any heed because he’s focused on Stiles. His stare has taken on a different quality but it’s difficult to tell what it means. It’s always difficult to tell what Derek thinks or feels. As soon as the woman has driven off, he grabs Stiles by the arm and drags him back across the road that nearly became the place of his demise and into the coffee shop.

“Stop it,” Stiles complains, but his experience over the past two years has taught him to first and foremost not draw any attention, so his voice is more like a subdued hiss. “Let go of me! I just came from here. I don’t want coffee. I’m perfectly fine and I most certainly wouldn’t want to have coffee with you.”

Derek ignores him like he mostly does anyway and just pushes him into a seat in a corner. “Stay!”

“I’m not a dog,” Stiles calls after him, but Derek’s already making his way to the counter and doesn’t give any indication that he’s even heard him. Stiles rubs his hand along his right side carefully. He’s going to have one hell of a bruise there tomorrow and for days afterwards. On the other hand, he could be in hospital right now, or worse, so he’s willing to count it as a win.

Derek comes back with two cups and sits opposite him, effectively blocking his exit now. So Stiles resigns himself to stay here for as long as Derek sees fit – while the guy just sits there, silently waiting for his coffee to cool down to a drinkable temperature.

“Well, Mr. Hale,” Stiles says, pitching his voice facetiously high. “One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent together for half an hour. A very little will suffice.”

Derek stares at him blankly for a few moments, then frowns. Stiles is used to this kind of non-reaction from Scott, but at least his friend knows that he’s missing a reference, whereas Derek looks like he’s considering the distinct possibility that Stiles may have lost his mind. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.

“Not a literature buff then?” Stiles sighs. Why does only Lydia ever recognize his quotations? She doesn’t even find them funny, nor is she ever suitably impressed.

“Is this about your own feelings or do you imagine that you’re pandering to mine?” Derek deadpans.

Stiles gapes for a lot longer than he would like to admit, before grinning broadly. “Not word perfect but kudos for recognizing the book, the scene and knowing in general terms what comes next. Wow, Derek, when you were creepily creeping around in the creepy house in the creepy woods, you were really just brushing up on your Romantic novels, weren’t you? I am very impressed. I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Jane Austen fan.”

“I’m not. I like to read. And I have a good memory. And that last bit you said was only in the movie, it’s not in the book.”

Stiles lowers his eyes when he’s reminded that he used to have a great memory, too. How is it possible that he can remember words from a book he read years ago but forgets to buy milk, _twice_?

“Can I go home now?”

“I don’t know. _Can_ you? Can you cross the road safely? Drive without killing yourself?”

“I was distracted, Derek. You know, that thing where you think about something and don’t pay attention to what you’re doing?” He leans forward a bit so he can be certain not to be overheard. “I’m sure it never happens to you supernatural beings, with all your freaky powers and all, but us mere humans get distracted sometimes. And that’s what I am now. Again. Plain human. And I’m sure everyone’s real happy about that.”

“You mean, _you’re_ not?” Derek’s eyebrows come up reprovingly.

“Of course, I am,” Stiles flares up, louder than intended and he lowers his voice a little when the woman at the next table looks up sharply. “You think I wanted to be like that?”

“Nobody thinks you wanted any of that, Stiles. And if it was anyone else, you’d be the first to tell them that it wasn’t their fault. I don’t lose any sleep over trying to set Chris Argent on fire and neither should you about any of the things you did while under the influence.”

“ _Under the influence_? You make it sound like I had one drink too many and said something I shouldn’t ha... Wait a minute. You tried to set Mr. Argent on fire? I didn’t know that. Why didn’t I know that? I asked you if there was anything I did to you and you said no. I distinctly remember that. No. That’s what you said: no.” In fact it had been just that, a monosyllabic response to a question that he’d asked with some considerable trepidation.

“Because you didn’t. That wasn’t you. End of story.”

“But...”

“ _End_. Of. Story. Stiles.”

Stiles glares at him. He hates that everyone is so forgiving. He can remember everything he did with perfect clarity, can’t think about anything but that. He wants to make amends but no one will let him. And even if they did, what could he possibly do or say to make any of it right, or even just bearable?

“I want to go home.”

Derek doesn’t answer but moves his legs slightly so that Stiles can slip past him. It’s a bit of a squeeze and he has to press his backside against the table if he doesn’t want his crotch ending up in Derek’s face. The thought gives Stiles a small embarrassed jolt, but Derek seems to be completely oblivious, his eyes never leaving Stiles’s face. Then he’s out of the tight spot and practically running from the coffee shop. He doesn’t get very far though, because he can feel Derek’s hand on his arm again before he’s completely on the sidewalk.

“What now?” he grouses in exasperation. This is worse than when they first met and Derek seemed to be everywhere Scott and he were.

“If you insist on running off blindly, I’ll better make sure you get safely across the road.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Stiles tries to shake off Derek’s arm before he remembers how futile that is. If Derek doesn’t want to let go, nothing Stiles can do will make him. That doesn’t stop him from trying to yank his arm away while being half-dragged and half-pushed next to Derek. Then, suddenly, he’s released just as he’s trying one more time to get free, and promptly stumbles, flailing wildly until he finds purchase against his jeep. “Asshole!”

Derek just stands there, unperturbed, watching him get into his car and stalling it once, before driving off a little jerkily. Fuck, this is embarrassing, as if he can’t be trusted to be walking by himself, never mind driving. But is it any wonder that he gets flustered when _Derek Hale_ is right there, judging him?

 

 

 

Derek waits just long enough to see the jeep disappear around the corner before he gets into his own car. This is the first time he’s seen Stiles in a few weeks. The teenager has always been just on the periphery of his own life, the best friend of the new werewolf in town, useful at times but negligible for the rest of it. Okay, fine, he saved Derek’s life once or twice and Derek likes to pay his debts, but he never really _considered_ Stiles until he became possessed.

It was laughable really that skinny, little Stiles turned into an all-powerful enemy and that was quite possibly the main point. The Nogitsune could hide in plain sight and when he was revealed, Stiles was the one person that everyone wanted to save. Even Derek, who would have quite happily killed Jackson or Lydia when he was hunting for the Kanima. Maybe it’s just because time has passed and Derek doesn’t kill first and ask questions later any longer. Or maybe there’s something about Stiles that makes everyone like him.

It might have been one of the reasons he was chosen. Or Stiles’s intelligence could account for that. Because Stiles doesn’t miss a thing. His attention to detail is phenomenal. Coupled with his tenacious curiosity, it meant that the Nogitsune could use Stiles’s knowledge to cause maximum havoc. It wouldn’t have been possible with anyone else. Scott may have given the trickster superior strength, but Derek has learned the hard way that, bar in a direct confrontation, superior knowledge and intellect usually wins out.

Derek has thought a lot about Stiles since then.

 

 

 

**2... is coincidence**

Stiles has had a fake ID since his fifteenth birthday. Naturally, it didn’t fool anyone then, nor for a long time after that. But he’s had more success since he’s grown his hair longer. He’s been mostly clubbing with Danny recently because Danny is easy to deal with right now. The Nogitsune didn’t do anything to Danny. Not to mention that even as skinny as he is, Stiles doesn’t get rejected in gay clubs. Apparently he looks innocent, which is something guys appreciate more than girls. There’s always someone who likes them young and is willing to buy him drinks.

But tonight he’s in _Bullet_ , the newest club in town. It’s so new that the bartender doesn’t recognize him as the sheriff’s son and happily serves him alcohol on the grounds of his fake ID all night. Stiles barely moves from the bar for hours, contenting himself with being rejected by the girls who come up to buy drinks instead of seeking them out for that privilege. When he finally does move to go home, he realizes that everything is swimming a little and the floor refuses to stay steady. Maybe it’s an earthquake.

Outside, the surprisingly friendly bouncer tells him to go straight home and be safe. Like _any_ one is safe in Beacon Hills. But okay, so apparently he’s going home... if only he could remember where he parked his jeep. After a few minutes of wandering about the parking lot, he finally locates the baby-blue shape and grins widely, fishing out his keys from his jeans pocket. He freezes a little when he hears a familiar voice, although he can’t work out why he’s bothered by it. They’re friends now, aren’t they? Sort of? Maybe it’s the tone, which already sounds annoyed.

“You’ve got to be joking!”

“Heeey... Derek,” Stiles says with a huge smile. “How’re you doing, wolfman?”

Derek doesn’t look like he’s been out to the clubs or anywhere else, being dressed simply in a dark t-shirt and jeans, with the obligatory leather jacket, and still looking better than anybody Stiles has seen all night. It’s not fair.

“It’s not fair,” he grouses.

Derek glares at him and then picks the car keys out of his hands like taking candy from a baby - or a werewolf taking anything from a human. “Tell me about it.” He grabs Stiles by the arm – which seems to have become a familiar theme between them way too fast – and pulls him along to his own car, ignoring any and all protests.

“My dad’s gonna freak if I come home without my car,” he says as Derek puts the seatbelt on him.

“Your dad’s gonna freak even more if you drive home in your state.”

“What’s wrong with my state? I’m not in any state. Well, I am obviously in a state but... what’s wrong with California?”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“Or what? You’ll growl at me? Throw me into a wall? I’ll have you know that I stopped being afraid of you months ago. You don’t scare me. I know you’re not so tough, really. Scott has more power than you.”

“Stiles!”

“What?”

“I had a bad day, would you mind not adding to it any more than you already are?”

“May I point out to you that I was happily minding my own business before you came along and stuck your nose into it, or should I say, stuck your _snout_ into it?” He giggles a little because he’s drunk and life’s pretty funny when you’re drunk, if not at any other time. “See what I did there? That was funny. Admit that that was funny.”

“Hilarious,” Derek deadpans. “Nobody’s ever come up with that one before.”

“See? Genius. Where are we?”

“Genius indeed. This is Scott’s house. Remember Scott McCall? Your BFF?”

“Scott! Yay! We should totally ask him to come out with us.” He tries to undo his seatbelt, but a large hand swats his fumbling fingers away.

“There’s no one in. You can’t stay here tonight.”

“Why would I want to stay here anyway? I’m on my way home.”

Derek restarts the car. “If you go home like this, you’ll be grounded ‘till you’re thirty. Which sounds very tempting right now but no.”

Stiles supposes that Derek has a point. His father is pretty strict about underage drinking, especially Stiles’s underage drinking. And he’s even stricter about drink driving, possibly because he sees the consequences at work all too often. The realization sobers him up a little. He isn’t usually so irresponsible.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

“Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t found a place to dump you yet. Where does Lydia live?”

“Please don’t take me to Lydia’s. That would be sooo embarrassing.” Not to mention that Mrs. Martin would probably call his dad instead of allowing him to crash there. Which would defeat the purpose, as he understands it.

“Where then?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have that many friends.” He runs through the list in his head. Isaac has gone to Europe with Mr. Argent and anyway, he was living with Scott before that and they’ve already tried there. And he doesn’t even _want_ to go to Lydia because Lydia is perfect and he can’t leave himself open like that. Kira, Danny, Greenberg... he doesn’t know anyone well enough to impose. He looks up when the car stops again. “You’re taking me home with you? Yay, sleepover chez Derek’s. Do you have any alcohol? Candy? I could murder some marshmallows. We could tell ghost stories all night.” He cranes his neck a little to try and look up at the darkened loft and hits his forehead against the side window in the process. “Oww, who put that there?”

Unsurprisingly, Derek doesn’t make any reply, just gets out of the car and comes around to help Stiles out. Which would be totally unnecessary if the seatbelt would be cooperating. Who invented these stupid things anyway? It seems like inanimate objects are conspiring against him tonight. He’s practically yanked out of his seat and his good mood evaporates. “There’s no need to be like that. If you don’t like sleepovers, then don’t bring me here. I’m perfectly okay on my own.” To prove his point he veers off to the right although he’s not entirely sure where that leads. Everything is dark and unfamiliar.

Derek’s hand locks around his arm, spanning it almost completely. While he’s being dragged towards the front door of the building, Stiles ruminates whether that means that Derek has big hands or simply that his upper arms are embarrassingly tiny. He stumbles once but with the way he’s held tight, he pitches forward less than three inches. “Try not to yank my arm out of its socket,” he grouses.

“Try to walk straight without my help then,” is the terse reply.

“I am perfectly straight,” he protests.

“Yeah, that line isn’t even true when you’re not drunk off your head.”

“You noticed that, eh?” Stiles feels a lot more sober now, but they’ve reached the elevator and the rickety movement makes him sway again. “Is it that obvious?”

“It _was_ last weekend.”

“Last weekend?”

“At the other club.”

Stiles tries to think back to the weekend before and remembers that he was out with Danny... and what happened that night. He groans. “You were at the club?” Please, if there is a god, let Derek have been _in_ the club.

“No. I was walking _past_ the club. Past the alleyway at the back to be precise. I’m sure you’re familiar with it.”

Oh, yes, Stiles has become very well acquainted with said alleyway over the last few weeks. What’s a guy to do who still lives at home and doesn’t want to go home with strangers?

“Oh God. You saw me?”

“And heard you. I was ready to rip the other guy’s throat out before I realized what you were doing.”

“Awww, that’s so sweet, Derek.” He bats his eyelids and puckers his lips in an air kiss. Then it really hits home. Derek _saw_ him. Derek Hale saw him _having sex_ in an alleyway. With some guy he barely knew the name of. He blushes with embarrassment but all his reactions are messed up nowadays, so he’s launched into an inexplicable rage. “You’re such a creep! Were you watching?”

“Did you _want_ me to watch? I mean, there were other people there. You didn’t seem to mind them.” The answer comes out completely calm, as if this isn’t one of the most embarrassing moments of Stiles’s life.

“You know what, Derek? What I do is none of your fucking business. If you’re that hard up, buy yourself a laptop and watch internet porn. And leave me the fuck alone.”

“Gladly. If you stop behaving like an idiot.”

They’ve reached the top floor now and Stiles feels himself unceremoniously pulled towards the steel door and pinned there with one hand – Derek _does_ have big hands, big and _very_ strong – while it is being unlocked. “I’m _not_ an idiot. I like to get laid. Who doesn’t? And you’re just jealous because you’re sexually frustrated. Have you even got laid since the last psycho you jumped into bed with?”

Derek opens the door and shoves Stiles back against the inside of it after he’s closed it. “I told you,” he hisses and it’s like old times, full of anger and frustration, “I’ve had a bad day, so don’t provoke me. You won’t like the consequences.”

Stiles can feel the whole of his back where it hit the steel. It hurts but not as much as Derek’s anger would have suggested. Derek has always had this complete control over his body, pitching his strength perfectly. Even smashing him into the steering wheel of his jeep didn’t hurt as much as he made out at the time. Still, he’s all up in Stiles’s face, breathing heavy, angry breaths and his eyes blazing in serious annoyance.

Stiles’s heart speeds up, but not in fear or anger. This is better than anything he’s found at _Jungle_ so far. He likes the danger, the thrill of going with some stranger, who might or might not do what Stiles wants him to do. He likes the alleyway where other guys are similarly occupied but might or might not be watching and waiting to do what they want to him. It gets him off, where anonymous sex alone might not.

But this is even better. Because he knows for a fact that Derek could tear him limb from limb if he wanted. There is more strength and power here than with any of the other guys. So he smirks insolently. “Really? And what are you gonna do, big guy? You don’t have the guts to touch me. All you’ve got are meaningless threats. You’re not even an alpha anymore.”

“I don’t need to be an alpha to keep you in line, Stiles. I don’t even need to be a werewolf for that, you’re that puny.”

“Go on then,” Stiles taunts and shoves at Derek’s chest with both hands. It’s almost like hitting a solid wall, all hard muscles and just as much give. “I bet you can’t even get it up.”

Eyes widening a little at the direction that remark is taking them, Derek grabs both his hands and pins his wrists above his head with one hand. “Do _not_ provoke me!”

Now Stiles can barely breathe. This is oh so _good_. The danger of superior strength. The thrill of being confined. The helplessness. He’s been craving this ever since... sometimes he wonders if the trickster left something behind when he left. Nowadays he likes to provoke, not tease and joke like he used to but seriously flirt with the danger of riling people up. Anybody. Especially those who could easily best him in a confrontation.

But nothing, not any of the sometimes burly guys he’s picked up in clubs recently, was anything like this. This is Derek and Derek is a freaking werewolf. He could kill Stiles with his bare hands. He could force him to do anything he wants without breaking a sweat. He could take complete control like no one else could.

“Or what?” he grins. “Show me what you got, big guy! Have you got anything at all? Or are you all bark and no bite, as usual?” He juts his hips forward in a provocative gesture, sure that Derek can feel his hard-on, if he hasn’t smelled it by now anyway.

Derek moves closer until he’s pressing his whole body against him, smelling of leather and the outdoors and faint traces of sweat. It’s intoxicating, all that raw power barely contained and it is Stiles who’s making him lose control of it. It feels empowering. He can feel Derek’s lips a hair’s breadth away from his ear, whispering dangerously, “Is this really how you want to play this, Stiles? Do you want to feel my bite?”

Stiles shudders and almost comes in his pants. If Derek were to bite him now, there’d be nothing he could do to stop him. It would be completely out of his hands. He listens to a deep rumbling growl that he’s never heard him make before. Derek leans back a little to look at him, his eyes unexpectedly the usual green, but as stormy as if he’d shifted.

Stiles isn’t sure if he lunges forward or if Derek does, but he knows somehow that they both moved at the same moment. The kiss is not pleasant to begin with. There are teeth pressing painfully against flesh but then it’s suddenly wonderful, with a hot tongue in his mouth, invading, demanding and _taking_. If he’d known Derek’s such a great kisser, he would have done this much sooner.

Derek’s free hand pulls on his shirt, freeing it from his pants and ripping it open to run strong fingers roughly over his naked skin, scratching and pinching. Stiles really wants to know if his claws are out, but he’s too busy kissing back as hard as he can and keeps jerking his body forward to rub their crotches together. It’s not enough, not nearly enough. He wants to get off and at the same time he wants to stay here forever, being trapped like this and almost mauled by Derek.

There’s an unwelcome interruption when Derek suddenly moves back and lets go of his wrists. _No_! Stiles keeps his hands up above his head and pretends he’s still restrained.

“Last chance to back out,” Derek growls, his hand scratching lightly over Stiles’s stomach.

It sounds like a warning but Stiles’s only fear right now is that this might stop. He can’t let that happen. “Are we really talking about me here, Derek? Or is this about you, being too chickenshit to go through with it? Don’t be such a pussy. Show me what you got.”

Derek looks a little wrecked like he’s not quite in control and it makes Stiles’s heart speed up in delicious anticipation. Then Derek’s eyes wander to Stiles’s hands still pressed against the steel and he runs a finger over the wrist of one of them, following the vein with a razor sharp nail without breaking the skin, before trapping him again with one easy grip. “It’s like that, is it?” And Stiles can feel his arousal spike a bit more, together with some undeniable fear. Yes, it’s _exactly_ like that. It’s what he wants, what he craves, what he _needs_.

Derek presses closer again to speak against his ear. “You know... you were right before. I haven’t fucked anyone in a long time. So you better prepare yourself for a long night.” Stiles whimpers and feels like he’s stumbled blindly into his own personal paradise, finding it unexpectedly close to home. He’s hoping fervently that it won’t be over too soon.

Derek doesn’t disappoint.

 

He wakes up to his leg being warmed by the sun shining through the large window. It’s been a long time since he’s woken up so gradually, not screaming the place down at odd hours from the nightmares and being too afraid to go back to sleep afterwards. He knows where he is straight away. There’s no mistaking the cavernous room that is Derek’s loft.

It feels like he’s alone but that doesn’t mean much when dealing with werewolves. He’s certainly alone in the bed and for a few moments he just stretches luxuriously. There is an all-over body ache that comes from rigorous and prolonged sex and is surprisingly pleasant. He’s felt discomfort before, on the ‘mornings-after’ he’s had over the last few weeks, but it’s always been localized, usually in his ass. This is different. This feels like every single muscle in his body has been put through its paces and that might well be true.

Derek had no problem bending and holding Stiles just the way he wanted him last night. There were orders uttered in a raspy voice and strong hands forcing him to move this way and that when he wasn’t quick enough to obey. And he wanted to, oh, he wanted to. He wanted to follow each and every instruction to the letter, eagerly so. And those hands never left him, never stopped holding him down just hard enough until he was too tired to do anything and even then it didn’t stop. He’s had some marathon jerking-off sessions in his life, but he can’t remember ever coming that many times in succession.

It was rough and wonderful and went on and on until he was almost passed out. Yet the sheet he’s lying on is clean. He vaguely remembers a warm, wet flannel on his skin and being rolled from side to side, while the jizz-soaked cloth under his body was replaced. His eyes fly open. Oh shit! Derek gave him a sponge bath – like an invalid or a child. And then they were... maybe not cuddling but certainly spooning together. It was the first time he felt relaxed in months.

But now he’s suddenly not feeling so relaxed anymore. Shit. Shit. _Shit_. He had sex with Derek! How could he have been so stupid? Way to fuck up his life even more than it already was. He’s never telling Scott about this. _Never_. He’d rather tell him about the dozen or so one-night-stands he’s had over the past few weeks.

A quick look around tells him that he is, indeed, alone. Good. His clothes are folded in a neat pile on a chair by the bed and he gets up to get dressed and out of here before his good luck runs out. It’s easier said than done though, because his aching muscles are a little sluggish. But eventually he’s dressed and even finds his phone and car keys under the pile. Thank god for Derek being so anal. Anal? Yeah, that’s funny under the circumstances but he doesn’t have time to laugh at his own jokes right now.

All the way down the stairs he expects to bump into Derek. If he could run, he would, but he has to make do with walking stiffly. By the front door, he stops briefly to see if he can spot Derek anywhere but the parking lot is empty, except for Derek’s car and... the jeep. Oh thank god for that. Or rather, thank Derek.

It’s not until he’s gingerly sitting down behind the wheel and roaring out of there, that he realizes that he’s not the only one playing at avoidance. Derek has obviously had time to pick up his jeep this morning but not to be there when Stiles wakes up. It’s got to be deliberate. Ah well, that’s going to be a very awkward meeting the next time Scott and Derek decide to pool their resources. Pack meetings are going to be completely fucked for a while.

 

 

 

Derek stops at the corner of the building when he sees Stiles coming out. There’s a moment’s pause while the teenager looks around without spotting Derek and then grins broadly at the sight of his jeep. The way he very gingerly takes a seat behind the wheel almost makes Derek want to wince in sympathy. Maybe they overdid it a bit last night.

This morning he had to extract himself carefully from a barnacle-like Stiles, who apparently likes to hang on to his bed partners for dear life. Watching the sun come up by the window gave him an opportunity for quiet contemplation, but it didn’t get him very far. He fucked up, he knows that. It was immediately clear to him that there are a hundred ways the situation can blow up in his face and maybe one, two at most, that it won’t.

So he did what he always does: spring into action. He spent half an hour checking up on the hunter he saw in town yesterday. He remembers the guy hanging around Kate before the fire and Derek rather suspects that he had some part in it. But nowadays he doesn’t go around killing people anymore, not unprovoked and not unless he’s in a fight. He could get the guy to attack him easily enough to have an excuse, but it might cause more problems than it solves. With Chris Argent being away, there’s no one to simply tell the man or any other hunter that might follow to move on and the sheriff wouldn’t take too kindly to a mauled body in his town.

This morning the guy was still at his motel, so Derek will have to keep an eye on him until he leaves. He feels calmer today. Yesterday, seeing him riled him up more than he would like to admit. It could have something to do with the fact that it was a full moon last night. And then Stiles came along and made it so much worse. Or so much better, depending on how you look at it.

After watching the motel for a bit, Derek took a slow jog over to that new club that happens to be on his way home from there and picked up Stiles’s jeep. When he got back to the loft, he sorted out the kid’s clothes and texted Scott on Stiles’s phone to ask him to cover with the sheriff. Then he sat for a while and watched Stiles sleep.

It’s been a long time since he’s had anyone sleep in his bed. He doesn’t exactly miss it but it’s... nice. Of course what he and Stiles did last night doesn’t exactly fall into the category that causes one to hope this will become a permanent arrangement. That was all about sex, and wanting to forget and getting some needs met that might not be all that healthy. Derek doesn’t usually engage in power play, because so much of his life is about defending his position and exerting dominance. But Stiles was so desperate and needy and so wonderfully responsive. Combined with the day he’d had and the full moon, it was irresistible.

Stiles was also very drunk. Derek knows it’s not for the first time, nor is the sex something new for Stiles either. From what he could see, last weekend was pretty much filled with the same kind of activity for the teenager, just with a different partner. When he realized what was going on in the alleyway, Derek didn’t really want to know, but he waited nevertheless – out of earshot unless he strained for the sound of him – and made sure the kid got home alright. Somehow Stiles is part of that ragtag group that has invaded Derek’s life and he couldn’t just leave.

The same happened last night, he couldn’t leave then either after chancing upon the teenager on his way home from the motel. Stiles was in no fit state to drive or to face his father. Although the latter may have been preferable to what happened when Derek tried to ‘help’. Yeah, no one will buy that helping was his intention. Stiles was drunk, he’s underage and he has vastly inferior physical strength. Nobody will ever believe that he practically begged to end up with the bruises he got, and even if people would believe that, those three facts make a pretty convincing argument why Derek should have said no. He’ll be lucky not to end up with a bullet between his eyes – made from wolfsbane, now that Stilinski knows the score on that front – or at least getting hauled into prison for statutory rape. It’s like he thought: a myriad of ways for this to turn to shit and no real hope that it won’t.

After sitting around the loft, trying to come up with a feasible solution, he went back out to clear his head a little. It’s still early even now, so he didn’t expect Stiles to wake up in the meantime. They need to talk, obviously, as awkward and uncomfortable as that will be. Maybe Stiles is okay with what happened. Derek just doesn’t know if he himself is okay with it. With another person, someone older, someone he doesn’t know, he wouldn’t have a problem. It would either be ’thanks and see you’ or ‘that was fun, we should do that again some time’ and his life would carry on as normal.

But Stiles is so young and despite having had sex in an alleyway behind a gay club at least once in the past, he still seems pretty innocent to him. Plus, they move in the same circles. Derek can’t just never speak to him again or avoid him forever. He’s Scott’s best friend. It’s pretty much a given that they’ll run into each other again – soon and frequently, if the way his past life has gone is anything to go by.

But right now, all he wants is to make sure that Stiles is alright. He wants to go home and do whatever Stiles wants him to do. He’ll apologize if that’s what he wants, or ignore it ever happened. Anything to make this easier for Stiles because he’s been through enough lately. And if Stiles wants to do it again...

Derek rounds the corner and watches Stiles climb into his jeep and drive away. Yeah, that’ll work, too. He dumps the second coffee he got from the diner in the dumpster next to the building and then slings the breakfast food after it. He’s suddenly no longer hungry.

 

 

 

**3... is a pattern**

“I slept with Derek,” he says quietly and even after two weeks he can’t quite get his head around that fact. “I know you don’t like him because of your mother and all, but he’s not a bad guy, you know. Kind of sweet when no one’s looking.” He chuckles a little. “Yeah, I know, hard to believe.”

He’s sitting cross-legged on the slightly damp ground and tears out random blades of grass. He’s already spent an hour with his mother, telling her about the nightmares and the Nogitsune – again – and about being alone on this day for the first time since she died. It’s not Scott’s fault. His grandmother needs a new hip and Melissa wanted him to drive her to Portland. They even asked Stiles to come along, but he can’t be away from Beacon Hills today of all days, so he declined.

It’s not often that he visits the cemetery. He doesn’t really believe in an afterlife or that his mother is watching over him somehow, which makes his life just that much more depressing. However, here’s the only place where he can talk to her. He’s so acutely aware that she’s no longer at home that he could never pretend that she’s around somehow. There’s just this huge space where she used to be, hollow and empty. He’s always worried that the emptiness will grow and she will fade to a degree that there won’t be anything left.

It’s different at the cemetery. Because this is undeniably the place where she actually physically _is_. He knows his father never comes here, for that very reason. It’s too painful. As close as they are, especially now that his father knows about the supernatural, his mother is one subject they avoid as much as they can. By now it’s patently obvious that neither one of them will ever truly get over it. Stiles doesn’t even want to. The only thing worse than missing his mother to some degree would be not missing her at all.

But there are things you don’t say to your mother. ‘ _I had wild and awesome sex with a guy I know’_ is one of those things. And over the last few weeks he’s come here more often than he’s ever been to visit his mother. At first it was about repentance. Scott doesn’t want to talk to him about Allison – or anything else for that matter. According to Scott, they’re good.

And they are. They hang out and they do the stuff they used to do, play video games, study, go to the movies and neither one of them mentions that it’s not just like it was before the Nogitsune, it’s like it was before Scott became a werewolf, before _Allison_. And just like he and his dad never mention his mother, he and Scott never mention Allison. Stiles doesn’t know if that’s because Scott can’t get over her or because he can’t get over what _Stiles did to her_. He can’t help but wonder if this is the one thing Scott will never recover from.

And that’s not even the real problem. The real problem is that _Stiles_ can’t get over what he did to Allison. Everybody says it wasn’t him. But he was there, he was watching, unable to do anything about it, supplying the knowledge of his friends to the demon. Without access to his mind, the Nogitsune wouldn’t have been able to strike where it made the most impact.

So he’s been coming here quite regularly. He and Allison were kind of reluctant friends in real life, thrust together by mutual concern and love for Scott. If he’s honest, he never truly trusted her. First because she came from a family of hunters and his best friend had just turned into a werewolf. Then because of all the mayhem the Argents, not least Allison herself, had caused. Allison’s mistrust of the Hales never really subsided, whereas Stiles has to admit that in the end he switched sides. Given the choice between hunters and werewolves, he would nowadays choose the werewolves.

But when she died, Stiles no longer thought in those terms. Allison had been a bigger part of his life than he’d realized, albeit mainly second-hand. He spent hours, days, whole weeks even, seemingly talking about nothing else with Scott, before and after the break-up. He probably knows more intimate details about her than he has any right to. And he misses her. Not as much as he would miss Scott or Lydia, or strangely enough: Derek, but he misses her in her own right, as a person with great potential, as a teenager way too young to die, as the friend she could have been under different circumstances or might have become in the future.

And since she can’t tell him to shut up or change the subject, he’s taken to coming here and talking to her. She’s become his confidante and his therapy. He can’t get over the guilt of what he did to his friends. If he hadn’t been so weak, none of it would have happened. The Nogitsune chose him for a reason, didn’t he? The demon told him as much. He should have been stronger, fought harder, sacrificed himself if need be. And what he gets for that from Scott, from Lydia, from his father, is a pat on the shoulder and a half-hearted ‘ _it’s alright, it wasn’t you_.’

It’s _not_ alright. It will _never_ be alright. He likes to think that Allison would tell him that. That she would hold him responsible and treat him accordingly. So that gives him license to come here, and apologize as often as he wants to, as often as he needs to and to tell her things he can’t tell anyone else. He’s not quite sure how healthy this is but for now it works. And is there _anyone_ anywhere he should apologize to more than Allison?

“I don’t really know how it happened. Derek and I were arguing like we used to, with all the shoving into vertical surfaces and everything, and then suddenly we were kissing. And then we had sex. Hours and hours of it. I don’t mind telling you, because I know quite a bit about you and Scott as well, but it was definitely the best sex I ever had.

“Yeah I know, you think I’m all innocent and virginal but I told you before, I’ve been well and truly devirginized, many times, even before that night. I only had sex with a girl once, but guys I seem to be able to pull without problem. Wish I’d known that sooner. So maybe I couldn’t get a boyfriend if I wanted one, but sex, believe me, sex is no problem at all any longer.

“I’m not complaining, nope, definitely not, but it was different with Derek. Not only does he _really_ know what he’s doing, he’s also, I don’t know how to explain it… When I’m with a guy I picked up at the club, it’s all about getting off, you know? I mean what else would you expect when you have sex in an alleyway? And it’s good. I like it. But with Derek… it was like, for the first time somebody was aware that it was _me_. I don’t mean that he was all romantic or emotional or anything – yeah, I know, hard to picture Derek Hale being emotional – but I wasn’t just somebody to have sex with either. He knows me. He knows who I am. He knows we will meet again at some point – although he’s making a good job of making himself scarce right now – he needs to deal with me as a person, right? So when we were having sex, there was that, a connection that was more than just _I want to get laid_.”

He sighs and tears out another blade, this one nearly slipping through his fingers from the wet. The slight but steady drizzle that’s been falling for a while now has turned into proper rain and he shivers. “Anyway, it’s just one more mistake, isn’t it? He didn’t really wanna know the next morning. Sneaked out while I was still asleep. Haven’t seen him since. Not even sure if I want to. I mean what would I say to him? And imagine Scott being there. Can we say _awk_ -ward? I wish I knew what to do. Or just knowing what I want would be good. All I know is that I felt good that night for the first time since… and I know I have no right to feel good, not after what happened and with you being here… I am so sorry, Allison. So, so sorry.”

It always comes back to that, every single time. He leans back and stretches out on the wet ground. It’s cold and he’s getting soaked in the rain, but he doesn’t care. Ignoring the shivers, he closes his eyes. If he could just sleep through one night, just one, but even that is impossible. He’ll just close his eyes for a moment here, but they fly open almost immediately when someone taps his thigh with their foot. It’s light, but it makes him jump.

“Fuck!” He half-expects Allison to look down on him, no matter how crazy that is. But it’s worse. “Hey, Derek, if you’re aiming to put me out of my misery by scaring me to death, you’re doing an awesome job.”

“Misery? Self-pity more like. Self-indulgent crap. Get up.”

“Fuck off.”

Stiles closes his eyes again, trying to stop the shivers and the shattering of his teeth in vain. There’s nowhere he wants to go and he most certainly doesn’t want to have to deal with Derek right now. “Why are you always springing up out of nowhere anyway? I think I’m sensing a pattern. I’d have thought I’d be safe from you in a cemetery of all places. Are you stalking me?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m doing here, stalking you. Because I never lost anyone who may have ended up here,” Derek grouses, moving to stand by his head and pulling him upright by his shoulders with no effort whatsoever.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry, Derek, that was thoughtless of me.”

“And naturally you never said anything thoughtless in your life before.” Derek's voice is dripping with sarcasm. “Always such a paragon of well-thought-out conversation, you are.”

Stiles can feel Derek’s leather jacket land heavily around his shoulders. “I said I’m sorry,” he complains, but lets himself be guided by Derek to wherever he wants him to go. It’s all the same to him anyway.

“Yeah, like you being sorry isn’t exactly the problem.”

“What do you want from me? Why are you always dragging me somewhere and telling me what to do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because you don’t seem to know what you’re doing? And last time you seemed quite happy to do as you’re told.”

Stiles feels a jolt of embarrassment at the reminder of how their last meeting went. But it also makes him wonder if there’s going to be a repeat performance if he plays his cards right. So he decides to keep his mouth shut for a bit and see where this is going.

 

 

 

Derek pulls out his silently vibrating phone, barely glancing at the caller ID before fixing his eyes back on the figure huddled on the ground by the grave. It’s starting to get dark, not to mention that the rain is really settling in now. Derek is still somewhat sheltered by the tree he’s leaning against, but Stiles is out in the open.

“Yes.” He sounds as preoccupied as he is.

_“Hey, Derek, it’s Scott. I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”_

“Aren’t you in Oregon?” Scott called him yesterday to tell him that he and his mother would be visiting his grandmother, who has to have surgery after a fall. They do that nowadays. Tell each other when they won’t be around, in case something comes up.

_“Yes, exactly. But Mr. Stilinski called me because he can’t get hold of Stiles. He’s not answering his phone and...”_

“He’s with me.”

 _“He is?”_ The unspoken ‘ _why is he with you?_ ’ is creeping out from under the obvious relief in the voice, but it’s no longer suspicious and worried, just curious.

“Well, let’s just say I have him within my sights. Tell his dad I’ll make sure he’s okay.”

_“Okay. I’ll do that. Thanks. But there’s something you should know…”_

Derek doesn’t react to that. The tone implies that it’s kind of personal, maybe even venturing into secret territory and he’s not sure if he wants to know.

_“Today’s his mother’s birthday. I’m usually with him because his dad... uhm, birthdays and anniversaries are days when his dad needs to be a widower instead of a parent. Or at least that’s what my mom always says. Stiles has always spent the day with us.”_

“I understand.”

_“It’s just...”_

“Scott, I said I understand.” And he does. Everybody grieves in their own way. On the anniversary of the fire, Laura always wanted to spend the day with him, doing family things, watching movies and having meals together. Derek always wanted to be alone.

_“You might wanna...”_

“I’ve got this, Scott. Tell the sheriff not to worry.”

_“Oh, okay. Thanks.”_

“No problem.” He shuts the phone without any further ado and continues watching. Stiles is talking – isn’t he always? – but it’s kind of subdued without flailing or gesticulating. Derek could easily listen to what he’s saying but he’s not in the habit of using his werewolf hearing when it’s just a matter of curiosity. It’s part of the manners he was brought up with. Over the last fortnight, when he’s been checking up on Stiles more than he likes to admit, he only once listened to his conversation. It was with a guy at the club, who wanted Stiles to come to the alley with him ‘again’. Stiles had bristled at the suggestion and that had made Derek listen, straining to filter out the background noise, but the guy had taken no for an answer after the second attempt, and all that was left to do was follow Stiles to make sure he wouldn’t be accosted on his way to the car. As far as Derek knows Stiles hasn’t had any encounters of the sexual kind in the last two weeks.

He noticed Stiles earlier when he was sitting by his mother’s grave for over an hour. It made Derek wonder – not for the first time – what’s worse: losing someone suddenly, like, let’s say, being pulled out of class one day and told that your whole family is dead or watching someone disappear bit by bit over an extended period of time, knowing that there's no hope. As usual, he has no answer.

He makes his way over to Allison’s grave when it appears that Stiles has decided to go to sleep there, in the rain and the cold and the approaching darkness. Derek hates cemeteries, so he can’t really understand why Stiles seems so comfortable just being here, never mind what he’s doing right now. Derek himself is only here to pay for another year of maintenance for the graves of his family. Otherwise he avoids this place. This is not where his family _is_. So it’s coincidence that they’re running into each other today.

Putting his leather jacket around the thin, shivering shoulders is instinct, the need to protect and shelter, which he always kind of had with the teenagers, be it Stiles or Scott or any of his betas, but it has inexplicably increased since Stiles became possessed. And since that night they spent together, it has grown exponentially. He has to force himself not to check up on him more than he already does.

Stiles is uncharacteristically meek when Derek drives him to the loft, not even asking where they’re going or complaining about his jeep being left behind. He’s still shivering though, despite the jacket and the heater being cranked up to maximum.

“Are you _trying_ to kill yourself?” Derek grumps at him as he lets him into the loft. “Because there are better ways. Annoy me enough and I might do the honors myself.”

Stiles’s smile is brilliant for a few moments. “If I annoy you just the right amount, will you punish me?” His eyes are sparkling with challenge and promise before his chattering teeth spoil the effect.

Nevertheless Derek can feel his heart stutter for a beat or two. It’s not as if he hasn’t been thinking about what they did together, about holding him down, and more. He’s been trying not to, but the thoughts come unbidden. “No,” he says coldly. “That’s not going to happen. That’s not why I brought you here.”

“Shame,” Stiles mutters but he looks dead on his feet, not helped by the shivers and very pale skin.

“Go take a hot shower,” Derek tells him.

Stiles drags himself up the spiral staircase to the bathroom, while Derek orders pizza. He goes downstairs to receive it because he doesn’t like too many people in his place or anywhere near it. When he comes back up, it suddenly dawns on him that Stiles is taking an extraordinary long time. Immediately worried, he dashes upstairs.

There’s steam billowing in thick clouds as he turns off the faucets. Stiles is huddled at the bottom of the shower, just sitting there, as if everything else has become too much effort. His skin is bright red from the hot water.

“What are you doing?” Derek's concern tips over into annoyance as it so often does. He pulls Stiles up and out of the cubicle by his upper arms and wraps him in a large towel, trying to ignore his nakedness. It’s surprisingly easy, given the dreams he’s had over the last couple of weeks that involved this same naked body. But that was Stiles being sassy, not this bundle of misery that he is right now.

He takes Stiles downstairs and deposits him on the couch, placing another blanket on top for good measure. Then he hands him a slice of pizza in the hope that the teenage penchant for ignoring anything else in life in favor of food will do the trick. Which, luckily, it does. Stiles chews hungrily in large bites that make his cheeks bulge and accepts a second and third slice, while Derek is still on his first.

Derek turns various conversation starters over in his head. He’s not one for idle small talk and he can’t remember a single conversation with Stiles that didn’t involve insults and recriminations or a discussion of some deadly threat or other. So talking about everyday things feels wrong. He’s not interested in the mundane anyway. And the other possibilities? _What the hell is wrong with you?_ would be one, but he kind of knows the answer to that one already, so that should be more along the lines of, _Snap out of it!_ He doesn’t think Stiles is quite in the right frame of mind for that one.

The only other thing he wants to say or ask or clear up or _whatever_ is what happened between them before. But since he hasn’t made up his mind about how he feels about it yet, that conversation might lead to questions he can’t answer. So he waits. He’s good at waiting, at just hanging around and simply watching.

Stiles is looking out of the window while he eats and drinks his soda, although now that it’s gone dark, the glass is like a sheet of black, more suited to serve as a mirror. There are no buildings overlooking this one, so there’s no need for curtains. Derek likes the feeling of openness it conveys. After a while, when Stiles seems to have recovered enough to no longer be in danger of collapsing, Derek leans his head back and stares at the ceiling.

“Can we go to bed?”

It’s still early, barely eight o’clock, so Derek indicates vaguely to the corner where the bed is and says, “You know where it is. Knock yourself out.” Looks like they’re going to have another sleepover. “You should let your dad know if you’re staying.”

Remembering that all of Stiles’s clothes are still in the bathroom, he goes to fetch them and spreads them over the furniture to dry them out. In the meantime Stiles has made his way into bed, where Derek hands him his phone, trying not to think about the fact that he is naked under those sheets.

There’s a long murmured conversation which he doesn’t listen to but still can’t help catching the general mood of cheerless gloom that Stiles tries valiantly to cover with fake brightness. It all sounds depressingly familiar. He occupies himself with tidying the leftover pizza and various other things away. He never notices how messy the place is until someone turns up.

Finally Stiles closes his phone and puts it on the bedside table. “I’m done. Now come to bed.”

Derek, who’s in the process of stacking some of his books neatly on the coffee table, freezes for a moment at the tone, then turns very slowly to look at him incredulously.

Stiles has that smile on his face that turns one of the corners of his mouth up more than the other, and can be classed as either gleeful or downright smirking. Right now, it’s challenging him. “You’re going to eventually anyway, so you might as well do it now, so we can get on with it.”

“It?” Derek gives an amused huff despite himself.

“Sex, Derek. Fucking. I want you to fuck me into the mattress, as they say in porn. Although I doubt that it’s physically possible. But with you being a werewolf and all and your freaky strength, who knows? Maybe you can actually do that. I want you to come over here and give it a good old college try.”

Derek goes from surprisingly amused to surprisingly aroused in the time it takes Stiles to finish speaking. It must be something about the discrepancy between how innocent he looks and how filthy his talk is. “I told you it’s not going to happen,” he says and it comes out more like a growl, making Stiles smirk a little more.

“If you don’t want to do it, I’ll do it myself,” he retorts, throwing the sheet back to reveal his naked body, which is, quite frankly, beautiful - in a lanky sort of way. He’s half-hard already and is now starting to stroke himself ever so slowly, his eyes never leaving Derek's.

This would be a lot easier if Derek didn’t know what that body feels like against his own, what sounds he can coax from it, how pliant it can be. Fuck! The sensible thing would be to walk right out the door. What was he thinking, bringing Stiles here again? Right now, all he seems to be thinking is that he wants to fuck him again, all night, if they both last that long, which seems a decided possibility right now. It’s what he would want in Stiles’s situation as well, what he _did_ want, when he was where Stiles is now. And it’s that knowledge that’s stopping him.

“Not gonna happen,” he says more firmly.

“You sure?” Stiles asks, running his thumb through the clear fluid at the tip of his cock and licking it off, moaning a little for good measure.

Derek nearly chokes on his own spit. Then he forces a smirk. “I can give you some alone time, if you wish.”

He can feel Stiles’s mood change from provocative to irate in seconds. He throws his whole body out of the bed in an angry flail, landing on his feet and going for his clothes. “I can get it somewhere else, you know. _Easy_. You should see the guys at the club. They’re falling over themselves to buy me drinks and fuck me in the alleyway. Not as comfortable as your bed, I admit it, but a lot less hassle.”

“No.” Derek is over there to snatch his shirt off him before he has time to put it on. “You’re not leaving.”

“Give me that!” Stiles makes a half-hearted attempt to grab it back, standing no chance at all against Derek's superior speed, and changes tack halfway through the move. He throws his arms around Derek's neck and kisses him.

Derek finds himself kissing back before pushing him away violently enough to make him land back on the bed. This is obviously not working. It needs a different approach. “I’ll be right there.” To the sound of Stiles’s triumphant chuckle, he goes to lock the door – they really don’t need any uninvited guests for this – and switches off all the lights, bar the one next to the bed.

By the time he strips down to his boxers, he‘s managed to talk himself down from a burgeoning hard-on. Stiles is on him within seconds, rubbing their bodies together and kissing him. Derek kisses him back, just for a moment, because he can’t quite restrain himself, before pushing him onto his back, holding his wrists down and sitting on his hips with just enough weight to stop him from moving. Stiles looks up at him with hooded eyes, smiling blissfully and already in the zone he so obviously needs. His cock is bouncing eagerly against Derek’s back.

“Do you have any restraints?”

Derek feels a hot jolt of worry together with renewed arousal. “Have you done restraints before?”

“No, but I want to. Do you have any?”

“Why would I need restraints? I have no trouble holding anyone down.” It’s a relief to know that Stiles hasn’t gone that far in his quest because there’s no telling where that might lead. Possibly somewhere he doesn’t really intend to go. On the other hand, restraints would make everything a lot easier for Derek right now.

“That’s true.” Stiles is smiling now, his eyes shining excitedly. He wriggles a little, quite ineffectively, against his hold. Derek just quirks an eyebrow at the pathetic display, which makes Stiles flop back on the bed, breathing heavier already.

“Have _you_ done this before?” Stiles asks.

Derek is grateful for the opening. He didn’t quite know how to start this. But he’s also not quite sure how much he wants to reveal, how much he _needs_ to reveal to get through. “I have… but only from the other side.”

Stiles frowns, then his whole face lights up in surprise. “You… _bottomed_?”

“Yes, when I was your age. Slightly younger even.”

“But… you’re a werewolf. What good would it be to restrain you?”

“There are other wolves who’re into this sort of thing. And ways to restrain.”

“Did you like it?”

“I liked it for the same reason you do. Ultimately it doesn’t help, you know.”

Stiles’s eyes cut away. “I just like it. Everybody has their kinks. There’s no deeper meaning to it.” Then he looks back at Derek. “You know, for someone who barely ever talks, you’re awfully chatty in bed. Can we just do this?”

“We _are_ doing this. This is it. Tonight will be talking only.”

“That’s what you think,” Stiles smirks and tries to buck up. Naturally he doesn’t get very far. A little annoyed, he nonetheless grins at Derek. “Come on, fuck me already.”

Derek's boxers don’t really hide the fact that at least one part of his anatomy agrees with the suggestion – vehemently so – but he’s also had to fight bigger physical urges in his life than an unwanted erection. He looks back at Stiles unperturbed. “Not gonna happen. You will stay here until you admit to me what’s going on. If you even know.”

“There’s nothing going on. I like sex. I like rough sex. Many, many times with many, many people. End of story. Now either fuck me or let me go.”

“Neither, I think. This is not you, Stiles. All this _I’m a slut_ behavior isn’t really you.”

“You don’t know me. Let me go.”

“I know you enough to know that you would never have done this before the Nogitsune.”

“Bullshit. That has nothing to do with what I do. Let me go!”

“You’re sleeping around because you want to feel something, anything other than pain and guilt.”

“Shut up! You know nothing. Let! Me! Go!”

“But you think you don’t deserve anything other than rough sex with some stranger in a dingy alleyway.”

“Spare me your nickel and dime psychology. And let me go! I’m serious, Derek, this is way past okay. I’m not kidding around. Let me go!”

“Okay.” Derek leans forward and catches just the beginning of Stiles’s triumphant smile as he bends down to whisper in his ear, “I let you go if you say the safeword.”

He leans back up to see a look of confusion in Stiles’s eyes. “We don’t have a safeword.”

“Really?” Derek says mockingly. “I guess I have no reason to let go then. You know, since we’re only playing and you do these things all in good fun. Let’s play a bit more then.”

Stiles’s heart is pounding louder and faster now. As yet it’s difficult to tell if it’s anger or dawning fear. ”Yeah, yeah, I get it. It’s dangerous. I should be more careful. Yadda, yadda, yadda. You’re right. I’ll be more careful from now on. Okay? I get it. Really.”

“No, you don’t. Does Scott know how you get your kicks nowadays?”

“No.”

“Why not? Aren’t you best friends?”

“He wouldn’t understand.”

“Or maybe he would understand only too well. Stiles, you’re not telling him because you know it’s wrong. There’d be nothing wrong with it if you did it for the reasons you say. But you don’t. You’re punishing yourself. You’re handing over control to some stranger so that you’re not responsible, even for a short time. So someone else will make decisions for you and you can’t make any more mistakes. But you're not possessed anymore. Learn to trust yourself again.”

“Will you shut up? You know nothing. Nothing at all.” Stiles is wriggling now, making a serious, if futile, effort to break free. His erection has waned and his mood has moved past deep embarrassment to anger.

Derek has no trouble rendering his feeble escape attempts moot, smiling while he does. It’s easy to be cruel when he can see his younger self in Stiles. God, how pathetic he was in those days.

“Did you know that your mother and mine were buried within a month of each other?” It’s true. He noticed it on the Stilinski gravestone today.

Stiles stops struggling and looks at him, with something akin to fear in his eyes now. Somehow Derek knew that the mere mention of his mother would get a reaction, maybe even the first genuine one of the night.

“Of course, I was older than you at the time. But then again, we had a mass funeral, my parents, brother, sisters, aunt, uncle, cousins, so I think my pain and guilt trumps yours, don’t you? You know what I did for about a year after that? I went out almost every night. There was a club where there were other wolves who loved to take a teenage wolf and put him through however much he could take. Believe me, what you’re doing right now? Child’s play compared to what I did. Willingly. Didn’t matter, did it? Because I heal. It wasn’t really about the sex. For them yes, but not for me. I just wanted the pain. But I could pretend it was about the sex and that made it kind of okay. Everybody has their kinks, right?”

Stiles is staring at him, eyes wide. “That’s not what I’m doing,” he whispers hoarsely.

“I know. You like sex. Lots and lots of sex with many, many different men. I was listening. We’re not talking about you. We’re talking about me.”

“What happened?” Stiles asks quietly.

“I got careless and Laura found out. She put a stop to it. She was my alpha. Ultimately what she said had more weight than anything I felt compelled to do. And one day I realized that I already had enough pain in my life anyway. That letting someone else make the decisions for a few hours every night didn’t mean that I didn’t have to make my own for the rest of the time. And that they were just as shitty as the ones I made before it all happened. The sex being a major case in point. So I stopped.”

“How?” There’s genuine interest now. At least Stiles hasn’t quite given up on his life ever changing.

Derek gingerly removes his hands from Stiles’s wrists to sit up a bit more. “I got angry. With myself. With the world. It anchored me during the full moon and it made me determined the rest of the time. But that was just me. I’m a werewolf, anger comes naturally to me. It won’t work for you.”

“I thought we’re not talking about me?”

“We’re not. I’m telling you what happened to me. I got my family killed. I felt guilty and I looked for an outlet. Anger was the only thing that worked for me in the long run. It won’t work for you because it’s not who you are. And most importantly, what happened to me was my fault. You had no part in what happened to you. You didn’t cause it. You couldn’t have stopped it.”

Stiles closes his eyes and presses his lips together and Derek finally moves off him to lie beside him. He turns towards Stiles in invitation but the teenager turns his back on him almost immediately. Sighing, Derek prepares to grab him in case he tries to bolt again. But then Stiles moves back a fraction and Derek takes the reluctant hint and spoons up behind him. Stiles practically molds into him, seeking warmth and comfort.

“Do you ever wonder why Kate chose you?” he whispers.

“All the time. Peter was closer to her in age. But he was also much wilier even then. I was stupid and weak. Maybe she spotted that.”

There is a long pause, then Stiles says quietly, “So you know exactly why I should feel guilty.”

“A demon possession is different from making wrong decisions because you’re an idiot.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Derek. In a sense, Kate was just as evil as a demon.”

Derek takes the peace offering and wraps his arms around Stiles to comfort him, the pack way. It usually works even on people who aren’t, if they’re amenable. Stiles seems to be settling down to sleep now. And despite the obvious ceasefire, Derek isn’t sure if he won this battle.

 

 

 

**4... is...?**

Stiles has been embarrassed many, many times in his life. It’s inevitable when you have a mouth that tends to run away with you, leaving your brain behind. But he’s never been more mortified than he is in the morning. As if being held down stark naked and talked at by Derek Hale of all people isn’t bad enough, he also wakes up screaming from a nightmare in the early hours. Eventually he calms down enough to find his flailing arms and legs held in place very tightly and hearing a soft rumbling sound coming from Derek that is more soothing than any words his dad has muttered to him on these occasions. It feels safe, safer than he has in a long time. It’s not just that this is the most effective physical power he’s ever been subjected to, it’s also that Derek doesn’t flinch, doesn’t panic and after what he told him, Stiles is pretty sure that he doesn’t judge him either.

It’s still embarrassing as hell in the cold light of day though. When Stiles is getting dressed, Derek offers to get some breakfast from the diner, but Stiles just wants to get out of here without having to think about what happened. This is even worse than the morning after they had sex. Both of them avoid looking at one another, so at least he’s not the only one. He wants to tell Derek that he won’t say anything to anyone about what he told him in the night but then he would have to acknowledge their ‘conversation’ and he can’t bring himself to do that. He even declines a ride to his jeep, preferring a long, solitary walk back to the cemetery to an uncomfortable silence in Derek's car.

For a week, he manages to pretend that everything is normal. He’s getting good at that because he’s had a lot of practice over the last few weeks. Scott is back and they hang out. There’s school and lacrosse practice. His father needs looking after still and there’s studying for mid-terms. But underneath his skin, there’s an itch that makes him want to climb the walls. It’s worse than usual and no amount of Adderall can combat it.

The next weekend he finds himself back at _Jungle_. Danny is around somewhere, but their clubbing together only ever consists of saying hello to each other and chatting a little until one of them, usually Danny, is asked to dance. After that, both of them do their own thing. For a while Stiles assumed that Danny felt he was cramping his style, but later it turned into a blessing in disguise because he was glad not to have any witnesses for what he was up to.

Stiles isn’t stupid. He‘s done extensive research on the subject of his sexual behavior. Derek's quite right, of course, that Stiles uses the pain he lets other guys inflict on him as punishment. It makes him at least feel _some_ thing during sex, taking his mind of the things he doesn’t want to think about. So that’s two for one, punishment and distraction. What he really can’t get his head around is that he’s not _supposed_ to feel guilty. Everybody says so. But he still did what he did and Allison is still dead. He has no one else to blame because he was right there, doing things he can’t forget. He doesn’t know how Scott can separate the Nogitsune from him because he can’t. And without that, without being able to say ‘it was him, not me’, he can’t stop feeling guilty, can’t get angry or sad, can’t grieve, because he doesn’t have the right.

But ever since he’s been with Derek, the sex doesn’t seem to help anymore. It’s no longer what he wants. What he wants is sex with Derek, because Derek is the one person who had total control over him. No one manages it that completely, so nothing else is enough any longer. Unfortunately, Derek made it quite clear that he’s not interested in keeping it going. Stiles kind of knew that. None of the guys he’s been with over the last few weeks are interested in _him_. It’s all about a quick fuck in the alley or to combat the effects of the full moon in Derek’s case. At least he assumes that’s what it was when he looked up the moon cycle the next day.

After the third guy approaches him to buy him a drink or dance or ‘go somewhere a little quieter’, he wonders if he’s already acquired a reputation for being easy. He hasn’t been doing this that long, has he? It makes him feel uncomfortable as if he’s being preyed upon when before it always made him feel desirable. Maybe that has something to do with the fact that he has no intention of taking anybody up on their offer. What is he even doing here, if it doesn’t make him feel good? There must be another way.

When he asks the next guy who approaches him for a different kind of favor, it doesn’t take long until he’s offered a bag of pills. They’re surprisingly cheap but he’s not naive enough to think that the next batch will be, too. He has no idea what they are but since his needs are extremely basic – _forget, feel good, pass out,_ any of the above or all of them, in no particular order – he happily swallows two of them at once.

They work faster than alcohol and he has no more worries within minutes. This is good, better than good even. He dances for what feels like hours, flirts with anyone and everyone and feels on top of the world. That is until he crashes into some guy who clearly should have gotten out of the way of his dancing. The guy looks down his front where he spilled his drink on his shirt and then advances menacingly on Stiles.

Stiles doesn’t retreat. Since the Nogitsune showed him that it’s possible to be powerful even in his skinny body, he has very little fear left at the best of times, and right now, he feels like he could take on the whole club on his own. He smirks up at the guy, who is looming over him, being about a foot taller. “And what are you planning on doing, eh? You don’t scare me. I’ve seen far worse.”

The guy seems taken aback, making Stiles smirk even broader, but only for a few seconds. Then his fist comes flying towards Stiles’s face. Stiles isn’t worried. He can duck or bring up his hands or even easily absorb the punch with his face. He’s indestructible, right? The guy will just hurt his hand. Somehow he isn’t moving as fast as he imagines, though, or _at all_ , but the guy’s hand still ends up getting hurt. Another hand gets in the way, wrapping around the moving fist before it’s halfway to Stiles’s face and stopping it dead like it’s hit a wall. Punchy guy looks confused for a moment, then tries to dislodge his fist and glares at the man next to Stiles when he can’t do that either.

Derek stands there, looking at the taller guy unperturbed, his hand clamped vice-like around the fist. “Walk away,” he says coldly, his voice carrying effortlessly over the noise of the club. He must be using some kind of werewolf power.

The other guy looks meaningfully at his hand, then at Derek, who finally opens his fingers to allow him to make his escape. There’s only a short hesitation before he does and Derek lowers his hand.

Stiles grins at him. “Hey, Derek, rescuing me again? You didn’t have to. I had it under control. Totally.”

Derek's expression is incredulous. “What are you _on_?”

“Don’t know.” Stiles fishes out the small plastic bag from his back pocket and holds it up. There are three pills left. “Something… green.”

“Are you crazy?” The bag disappears into Derek's jeans despite Stiles’s protests and then he grabs Stiles’s hand and pulls him from the club.

“Hey, a little less of the caveman act, if you please.”

“I thought you like that sort of thing.”

“Are you stalking me? Because this is the fourth time you’re doing this good Samaritan thingy and if three makes a pattern, four makes… something more than a pattern. I can’t think of what it might be but it’s definitely deliberate.”

“Yes, it is. It’s _intention_. I am following you because you have developed a talent for getting into trouble. And I will keep following you until you stop.”

Outside he gets patted down for his car keys, which is rather enjoyable and makes him smiles coquettishly at Derek. To his disappointment the journey in his jeep takes him not to Derek's loft but his own house. The car movement also makes him feel a little queasy, which increases exponentially when Derek stops the car and tells him he will set his father on him if he ever sees him take drugs again. Imagining his dad’s disappointment after all he’s put him through already is enough to tip him over the edge. He barely makes it upstairs to the bathroom before he throws up.

The next morning he vaguely remembers Derek being there and helping him to bed. There are signs of him having spent some time in his room while he was asleep, a chair pulled out to a different angle from normal and a book – _The Stranger_ , one of his mother’s favorites – left on the seat of it. But Derek's gone and he can hear his father pottering about in the kitchen, having breakfast before he’ll go to bed for a few hours after his night shift. The mere thought of food makes Stiles groan. Apparently whatever he took last night causes the hangover from hell. Okay, so maybe drugs aren’t such a good idea after all. He kind of knew that already.

He tries to ignore the fact that Derek seems to be around a lot. Even Scott comments on how often they ‘accidentally’ bump into him when before they sometimes didn’t see him for days, occasionally weeks. Stiles tries not to let it show that he knows Derek’s watching him and not even very covertly. It would be tough to explain why. After about a week he’s had enough of it. He leaves the movie theater he’s at with Scott and Kira and makes his way to the loft.

Derek answers the door in a wife beater and jeans and Stiles suddenly realizes why he’s here. He hands him his copy of _The Stranger_ and slips into the loft uninvited. As Derek doesn’t stop him, it’s safe to assume that he doesn’t object. “I thought you might like to finish it. And in the meantime I thought I’d save you the trouble of keeping an eye on me by coming here. So you don’t need to go out to watch me.”

Derek doesn’t respond, just closes the door and walks back to the couch, flicking through the book until he comes to the page he’s looking for and starts to read. “Why aren’t you at the movies with Scott and Kira?”

“I think they wanted to be alone. Anyway the movie was boring.” He grabs the paper and starts doing the Sudoku, wondering if this is what pack is like, the easy togetherness, the not questioning why he’s here. It must be wonderful to have that. No wonder Erica, Isaac and Boyd loved it so much.

“Do you miss having a pack?” he asks because he suddenly realizes that Derek has lost all his betas now, not to mention that Cora is somewhere in hiding. The only one that’s left is… Peter, who's never done anyone any good.

“Yes.” Derek doesn’t even look up from the book.

“Do you miss being an alpha?”

“No.”

“Are you lonely?” It’s a bit of a personal question but he’s on a roll here.

“You’re here.”

“Yeah, right now. But I mean in general. You don’t seem to keep much company.”

Derek shrugs as if it doesn’t matter one way or the other and just carries on reading. Stiles moves to the seat next to him and occupies himself with his puzzle. If someone had told him a year ago that he would one day find it soothing to be in close proximity to Derek Hale, he would have suggested that maybe they’d forgotten to take their medication that morning. Now he simply wishes he could get even closer.

The thing about Derek is that he’s so certain all the time. He lives his life as if everything is black and white, as if he knows exactly who he is and no one can tell him otherwise. Even if what he thinks and does puts him at odds with everyone around him, it doesn’t matter to him in the slightest because he has his own code. And no matter how infuriating it is because he disagrees with him on all fronts, Stiles can’t help but admire his attitude. He wishes he had just a fraction of that certainty.

They have Chinese in the evening and watch TV, Stiles supplying a running commentary, as is his habit and Derek making sardonic remarks that are more about the comments than the shows. Stiles feels calm for the first time in what feels like forever.

 

“Uhm, why do you always smell like Derek nowadays?” Scott asks him a few days later. It earns both of them a strange look from Linda Seymour, who sits next to them in Algebra. Will they ever learn to not talk about certain stuff in class? “I mean, it’s the third time this week,” Scott continues in a whisper. “And there were those other two times when you smelled like you bathed in Derek's scent or something.”

“I told you, those were sleepovers when I was drunk. And at the moment… I just like hanging out with him, okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Scott huffs, not believing a word of it but dropping the subject for Stiles’s sake because he’s an awesome friend like that.

So maybe Stiles spends his evenings at Derek's loft now. It comes with certain advantages. For one, Derek's threatened to follow him about until he can be sure there’s no more drug taking, so it saves them both time and hassle. For another, Stiles feels nowhere as relaxed as around Derek.

“Why aren’t you with Scott?” Derek asks him one evening when they’re sharing a homemade burger of such proportions that you could fold it in half and it would still dwarf the bun. Apparently Derek takes exception to what passes for a helping of meat in this country and Stiles really isn’t going to argue. It’s delicious.

“I can leave. Sorry,” Stiles mutters around a mouthful of food, a little disappointed that what he considered comfortable companionship is obviously not the same for Derek.

“If I wanted you to leave, I would have said, _Leave, Stiles_.”

Stiles looks up and smiles. This is what he loves about being with Derek. Everything is straightforward. Unfortunately that also means that he’s not allowed to dodge any questions. Right now, Derek's just looking at him, waiting patiently for his answer.

“I can’t be with Scott right now. Not after what I did to him. I literally twisted a knife in his guts, for Chrissakes, and I nearly killed his mother and even after that, he insisted on saving me. He’s just so… _good_. He became a true alpha just on his character alone. He makes me feel twice as bad.”

“Whereas I'm just as terrible a person as you are?”

“What? No! That’s not what I meant. Of course not. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it?” Derek is completely calm.

“You understand. You’ve been there. You did something you regret. And afterwards, you didn’t just bounce back like everyone’s expecting me to. I feel like you’re not judging me.”

“You realize that Scott’s not judging you either, right?”

“Maybe not. But he also can’t look at me without thinking of Allison.”

“Or maybe, you can’t look at him without thinking of Allison.”

Stiles shrugs. It’s true but he still thinks it’s because Scott does it first. Luckily Derek lets him drop the subject. He always does after a few sentences and that makes his probing questions bearable.

Later Stiles watches him do the dishes, wondering how seeing his strong arms submerged halfway in soap suds is so fucking erotic, he’s popping an instant boner. And he thinks to himself that washing up might not incapacitate Derek, because not many things could, but at least it might keep him in place if he’s approached. So Stiles steps a little closer and puts a tentative hand on the small of Derek's back. He’s been wanting to do that for a while now, to get closer, to have awesome sex like before, but also because he just wants to _be_ closer.

Derek doesn’t flinch. Why would he when he must have felt Stiles a mile off, maybe even sensed his intentions? He doesn’t turn around either, just says, “I told you this isn’t going to happen. Do you think I haven’t smelled your arousal every time you’re here? I’m not your sex therapy, so you can get over being possessed.”

His tone is calm and matter-of-fact and feels like a slap in the face nonetheless or maybe because of it. Stiles removes his hand like Derek’s on fire, dropping the dish towel in the process. This is more mortifying than any put-down Lydia has ever shot at him before they got to know each other, and strangely enough it hurts more, unless he simply forgot what it felt like. Right now, it’s crushing him, taking away his breath. He turns on his heels and makes his way downstairs and out of the loft, almost running like he’s some thirteen-year-old girl whose crush was mean to her.

At home, he lies on his bed, curled up with his pillow in his arms and tells himself that he deserves this. It’s a tactic he’s tried before. Whenever he feels bad, he thinks that he _should_ because he’s not a good person and has no right to feel any different. That seems to make it more bearable in a depressing, morbid kind of way. And usually, when it gets too much, he ends up at the clubs or getting drunk or taking drugs just to get a reprieve.

What was he thinking? Did he really imagine that Derek might actually _like_ him? Like him _that_ way? Derek may be just as lonely as he is, but he doesn’t have to be. Derek has options. Someone who looks like that always has options. Options that aren’t Stiles.

 

“I think I’m in love with Derek,” he tells Allison two days later. He can almost hear her incredulous reply. Then he realizes that the half-strangled snorting or choking sound is coming from behind him and turns to see Scott approach sheepishly.

“Sorry, dude, I didn’t mean to listen.”

Stiles shrugs. It’s better Scott heard that bit than his long ranting monologue before that, about his nightmares and how he remembers things and how sorry he is. Some things are better left unsaid between them. “Do you come here a lot?” he asks instead.

“Not really. But sometimes I just miss her so much. She was such a big part of my life.”

“I know, dude. I thought you were great together.”

“I did, too. But you know, I think my mother was right. She told me once that there’ll be other people I’ll love and that it will be just as amazing. I think Kira and I will be really great, too. But there’s nothing like your first, isn’t it? It’s special.”

Stiles doesn’t have anything to say to that because his firsts – male or female – were all kind of screwed up. Even his first time with Derek was. He can’t seem to get anything right. Sometimes he wonders what he would have turned into if Peter had bitten him. He wouldn’t have become a true alpha, that’s for sure. And he loves Scott just that little bit more for it.

“So do _you_ come here a lot?” Scott asks. “I thought you were spending all your time at Derek's nowadays.”

“We had a misunderstanding.”

“Really? What about?”

“I thought he liked me and… that was basically it. The misunderstanding. That was it.”

Scott frowns and looks adorably confused. “That’s not the impression I got when I saw him the other day.”

“When did you see him?”

“Uhm. Monday?”

“And he said what exactly?”

“Nothing really.”

Stiles nods sagely. “So you saw him. He didn’t say anything. And somehow you got the impression that my misunderstanding was a misunderstanding? Is this to do with your awesome werewolf senses? Or maybe you two share a vibe nowadays. Was there a smell? A special ‘ _I think he likes Stiles'_ smell? Don’t make shit up to make me feel better, dude. Because really… not making me feel any better.”

Scott comes closer and puts his arms around his shoulders. “If I could find a way to make you feel better, Stiles, I would have done it a long time ago. Make it up. Steal it. Force it. I’d do anything.”

Stiles melts a little into the embrace. “Me too, buddy.”

“I asked Derek about you because you see so much of him. And he said he’s helping you deal with some stuff. And that was it really. But we’re both werewolves. We can’t really lie to each other. The guy thinks the world of you. It was all there in his voice and his smell and his mood.”

“Really?”

“I swear. I actually thought you were together to be honest.”

“And you didn’t think that was odd?”

“Why would I think that?”

“You know, a human and a werewolf.”

Scott leans back a little and looks significantly down at Allison’s grave and back at Stiles.

“Ah, right.” Stiles lets go of Scott in an embarrassed gesture. “I meant, you didn’t think it odd because it’s _this_ werewolf?”

Scott shrugs. “Derek's a good guy. Took me a long time to work that out. We might not have got you back if it wasn’t for him. He never stopped looking and trying to work things out and saving people. You could do worse.”

Stiles knows that already. “Yeah, I only ever go for the best, don’t I? And look where that got me with Lydia.”

“Derek's not Lydia.”

“No, he’s really not. With the lack of strawberry blonde locks and curves, and all.”

Scott smiles and looks so wistfully at the gravestone that Stiles gets the hint. “I’ll just shoot off then. Good talk, Allison, see you soon.” He fist-bumps Scott’s upper arm in goodbye and leaves him there. When he comes out of the cemetery, he hesitates only long enough to have a coffee in the nearby diner to prepare a long-winded speech before he makes his way to the loft. This will be a delicate operation.

 

 

 

Derek pulls the door back and isn’t as surprised as he possibly should be to see Stiles on his doorstep again. This could have gone either way after what happened last time, with Stiles either never speaking a private word to him again or coming back for more. Derek had half-resigned himself to the former. Naturally, he’s been keeping a close eye on him because, while all the other stupid stuff the kid’s been pulling recently could go wrong and leave him hurt, taking drugs will leave him addicted and Derek isn’t sure if Stiles in his current state will ever resurface from that pool of trouble once he goes under. Luckily he’s refrained so far after the first time.

“I’m not trying to use you for sex or therapy or whatever,” Stiles blurts out without preamble. “I genuinely like you. More than like you.” He looks mortified at his own words, as if this isn’t what he meant to say at all.

Derek can’t help but be amused. That right there is the old Stiles, the one without the brain-to-mouth filter, who does whatever needs doing to achieve his objectives. In the past, Derek has mainly ignored him on those grounds, because at times it makes him look and sound like a complete idiot, but he now finds it rather endearing. “I am aware,” he says cooly. To his surprise, it’s actually true. He _has_ been aware of Stiles’s growing attraction to him. It could have many reasons, from wanting to be rescued by someone he trusts with the job to wanting to have sex with someone he couldn’t hurt if he tried, someone safe. However, Derek’s rather hoping it might be genuine. Stiles is generally a genuine guy.

He walks back into the loft, leaving Stiles by the door in a state of confusion that is rapidly replaced by humiliation. Obviously, he didn’t mean to say it or not say it like that or maybe was hoping he would get a different response. Which makes Derek wonder what gave him the sudden courage to just come out with it. Scott must have said something. Naturally, Scott’s aware of Derek's feelings as much as he is of Stiles’s. There’s very little hope to hide something like that from another werewolf, never mind an alpha. Derek isn’t overly concerned about that. He’s rarely ashamed of how he feels, only of how he acts on those feelings.

Stiles steps inside the loft, closes the door and follows Derek to the big window. “You are _aware_ that I like you?” It sounds like an accusation.

“I assumed as much since you were here so much.”

“But you don’t share my feelings?”

“I didn’t say that.” He sees no reason to hide anything. It’s none of Stiles’s business how he feels about him as long as he doesn’t bother him with those feelings.

“Then what _are_ you saying?”

“I’m not saying anything. There’s nothing to be said.”

“But you like me?”

“Yes.”

“And you maybe, possible, conceivably, _more_ than like me?”

“Yes.” It hasn’t been that long, to be honest, mainly since Stiles was possessed. That, however, is one thing Derek would rather not discuss. Finding an evil entity attractive is kind of disturbing, but Stiles was _fucking_ hot when he was powerful. Or maybe it just took seeing him like that for Derek to notice it, because he still finds him hot now. Hence the sex they had. That’s still not his finest hour – morally, not sexually, because sexually it was one of the best nights he’s ever had.

Stiles isn’t as elated as he might be by the admission because he’s too sharp to take things at face value. “Okaaay. _But_ …? I can hear a big ‘but’ coming on. Huge, really. Humongous. Because otherwise we would be kissing and cuddling and having awesome sex already.”

Derek shrugs. “I don’t get involved with people who lie to me. Or hide things from me.” He reckons that with his track record, nobody can fault him for that.

“Understandable. Wait… what? I don’t lie to you. Hello? Werewolf senses. I couldn’t if I tried. And I’ve been more open with you than with anyone else. I didn’t go through all that opening up shit with you just so you can accuse me of lying and hiding. I’m not.”

Derek has his arms folded across his chest and is looking out the window. This is harder than anticipated. “And that, right there, is a lie. There’s something else. Something you’re not telling.” He can hear it in the heartbeat, almost feel it, and it is unexpectedly painful. Lies and subterfuge always remind him of his past.

“There isn’t!” It comes out as a frustrated wail. “I told you I was there. That I remember it. All of it. Do you want details? Do you want me to tell you that I walked down the hospital corridor, trailing the Oni and watching them kill everything in their path? Trying to kill Melissa?” His voice breaks on her name and Derek is reminded that she’s the closest he’s had to a mother since his own died. “Do you have any idea what it felt like, twisting a sword in my best friend’s gut and seeing his anguish?”

Derek’s head turns sharply from looking out the window to scrutinizing Stiles. There it is! Right there, the lie buried deep within truth and apparent honesty. He can’t quite tell which part it’s relating to.

“What?” Stiles says, irritation covering his hurt. “You want me to talk about that? Seriously? You’re sick. You just enjoy when someone else is wallowing in misery because you’re such miserable, wretched, hateful…”

“Say it again.”

Stiles gets instantly derailed on his rant. “Say what again?”

“What you said about Scott.” Maybe he can pinpoint it if he hears it again.

“That I twisted the sword in his guts? I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Derek tilts his head slightly, listening intently. “No,” he says slowly. “That’s not it. Say the whole sentence again.” He doesn’t need to be a werewolf to notice the changes in Stiles’s body, because they’re not even subtle anymore. His heart is hammering so hard there’s a visible pulsing on his neck and Derek can practically see the adrenaline flooding his body by the slight allover tremble. This is way too close for comfort for Stiles.

“I’m out of here.” He turns on his heels but doesn’t get two steps before Derek has him pinned against the window.

“The whole sentence, Stiles.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Let me go, Derek.”

“No. All the stuff you’ve been telling me about what the Nogitsune did and what you remember, it’s all true. But there’s more. There’s this one thing that’s bothering you. One thing that’s so big, you can’t admit it to anyone, maybe not even yourself. Say it!” If he’s hiding it, it must be huge. What else could he possibly have done to cause such a severe reaction?

“I killed people. I tortured my friends. I blew up my dad’s station. What more do you want?”

“I want you to repeat the sentence,” Derek says evenly.

Stiles seems to consider struggling but already knows it’s futile. Derek is aware that the thing that makes him so perfect for Stiles at the moment is that he can’t hurt him in any way. It reassures him because he never wants to hurt anyone ever again. It’s what makes it possible for him to be with Derek, but right now it’s working against him, so he takes a deep breath and pushes out the words in one rapid and monotonous stream. “Do-you-have-any-idea-what-it-felt-like-to-twist-a-sword-in-my-best-friend’s-gut? There. Happy now?”

There it is again. Fainter this time but unmistakably there. Derek has his hands pinned to the pane in a position reminiscent of the night when they had sex. He reckons it makes things easier for Stiles, just like having sex with someone who pins him down is easier for him right now.

“What _did_ it feel like?”

“Are you serious? I hate you.” Stiles tries to cover his bone-deep fear with outrage. It’s not far off, because he _is_ outraged. Just not quite as much as he is afraid right now, genuinely afraid, like this could damage him beyond repair.

Derek swaps his hold to a single-handed grip and uses the other hand to cup his neck in a gentle gesture that he used on his betas a few times, mainly on Isaac, who needed comfort the most. It’s surprisingly effective even on a human. “Tell me,” he whispers and it’s like a promise, suggesting everything will be okay if Stiles just obeys this one command. Derek will make it okay. Somehow.

Stiles can’t stop the tears springing from his eyes and he’s either not aware or not ashamed of them - possibly because Derek has seen him in far worse situations or because a few tears are nothing compared to how very painful this is for him. They run down his cheeks and are soon accompanied by a sniffling nose.

“I felt nothing! Alright? NOTHING! You know when people get possessed in books and movies, they always tell you afterwards how they struggled and how awful it was to be trapped and having to watch? Me, I felt nothing. I. DID. NOT. CARE! I watched people die. I watched you guys suffer. I watched him trick you. And I felt NOTHING! I liked it. I was happy when he was happy and angry when he was angry. I helped him! Because I wanted to.”

Now he’s crying in earnest, in heaving gasps and Derek lets go of his wrists to pull him against his chest by the neck. “God, Stiles, is this what’s been bothering you all this time? I thought you were the brains of the group? The Nogitsune is a trickster. He tricks people. He tricked you as much as all of us. He possessed you, Stiles, and then he made you think you were helping him or enjoying it or whatever he made you feel. In the long run, he would have used that against you. Just for kicks. Because he could. But it wasn’t you. Whatever you felt, that wasn’t you. Those weren’t your feelings. That was what he wanted you to feel. He didn’t just possess your body. It was your mind as well. It was just another trick, pure and simple.”

Instead of being comforted Stiles just cries harder. He’s clinging to Derek, his hands fisted in his clothes, his face still pressed against his chest. And the tears just won’t stop. They’re joined by loud inconsolable sobs and wheezing breaths now. Derek has one hand on the small of his back, pressing their bodies together, while the other runs gently through his hair. He wishes there was a way to absorb emotional pain the same way he can absorb physical pain. Surely he’s much better equipped to deal with this than a teenager. Not that he doesn’t think Stiles will be able to cope, he just wishes he didn’t have to.

Eventually he picks Stiles up and deposits him on the bed, going down with him, so that he never leaves his arms. Stiles hiccups and calms a little, but doesn’t stop crying for a long time after that. Taking off his shirt, Derek wipes his face and even lets him blow his nose on it. There’s long period where Stiles just sniffles a little from time to time, his head resting on Derek's bare chest.

“I ruined your shirt,” he finally says and it sounds more desolate than any of his crying.

“It perished for a noble cause.”

Stiles huffs a laugh. “ _Now_ he starts making jokes.”

“Don’t worry I won’t make a habit of it.”

“Does it ever get any easier?” Stiles asks.

“It will.” The _for you_ remains unsaid. Because it will never get easier for Derek. If he’d managed to break down like this at some stage after the fire, it might have helped, but he never did, keeping himself tightly together and now it’s much too late for it. He came to terms with that a long time ago. It was his mistake, his weakness that killed his family. But it will be okay for Stiles because despite the sadness already in his life, he has many people who love him dearly and he will learn to forgive himself. Derek didn’t really have that. Laura was just as broken as he was and he never told her about Kate, so he could never ask her to forgive him. But Stiles will eventually accept the forgiveness he’s been offered so freely because there’s really nothing to forgive. None of this was his fault. He will realize it soon enough, now that he can start to grieve.

“Will you be there with me?”

“In any way you want.”

“Good. And just so you know, I’ll want lots and lots of ways. And lots and lots of times.”

“Okay. But not tonight. Tonight you sleep.”

And Stiles does.

 

 

 

Stiles awakes slowly, coming out of a dream of which he can only remember that Derek was there. It’s almost more disorienting to wake up like this, focusing gradually, than it’s to come to, being held down because he’s been screaming. His surroundings are unfamiliar, too, and for a moment he wonders if he’s still dreaming because his head’s bedded on Derek's naked chest. Then a hand lands in his hair and he closes his eyes again to gentle tugging of his strands and massaging of his scalp. No dream would ever be this good.

He would be embarrassed about breaking down like he did last night, but he has a feeling that Derek understands this better than even Scott would. It’s a matter of having been there yourself. Stiles couldn’t have told him anything if Derek hadn’t opened up first. Now that it’s out in the open, he can no longer avoid it. He can look at it and approach it rationally and however painful his experiences were and still are, they will never be as terrible again as that first initial step. Like lancing a wound, the worst is over.

He’s not stupid. He knows he’s a long way off from being back to normal, if he ever will be, but he’s a lot closer to being okay today than he was yesterday. There will be nightmares, although right now there’s hope that they won’t be a nightly occurrence any longer. There will be pain and sadness and mood swings and sudden and unwelcome reminders. But that’s just part of the grieving process. Next time he visits Allison, he’ll be able to tell her how sad he is that she’s gone and how much he misses her.

He wonders if anybody ever did for Derek what Derek did for him. Possibly not. Derek is strong and resilient but it’s willpower and a lot of anger that sees him through. Stiles has suspected for a while now that, contrary to all appearances, of all the people he knows, emotionally Derek is the most fragile.

Right now this feels peaceful, so maybe with a lot of hard work they can heal together. He wants this. He wants Derek, all of him. He wants this closeness, wants long conversations, wants laughter and seriousness, wants sex, slow and gentle or frantic and hard, whatever mood they’re in but he wants it with not just anyone, he wants it with Derek. This is no longer about being lonely and broken and desperate, this is about love. Somewhere along the line he fell in love with Derek and for the first time in his life, the other person fell in love with him, too.

“If four is intention, what’s five?” he asks, drawing lazy circles on Derek's stomach with his index finger, which, apparently, is arousing, if Derek's gradual reaction is anything to go by. Stiles will get to that in a minute.

“What are you on about?” comes the sleepy response, together with a slight tugging on his hair.

“You took care of me five times. One is an incident, two’s coincidence, three’s a pattern, and you said four is intention. So what would five be?”

Derek chortles a little as if he can’t quite believe they’re having this conversation. “Since I have every intention to carry on doing it, five is… a relationship.” Having his ear on Derek's chest, Stiles doesn’t need to be a werewolf to hear his heartbeat increase nervously, before he adds, “If you want.”

Stiles smiles. “I want.”

When he was in love with Lydia, she took his breath away every time she as much as looked in his direction. Being with Derek allows him to breathe.

 

FIN.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: possible dub con due to alcohol intake, mild bdsm (if you can call it that, don’t know what else to call it, restraining only), Stiles/other of the blink-and-you-miss-it variety (mention only), drug taking, likely underage sex as I can’t work out how old anyone is supposed to be on the show
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> Thank you for reading.


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